Code Geass: Geass Origins
by Andrew A. Anderson
Summary: This is the tale of the beginnings of Geass and its destruction of nations. "While living in the world of humans, you will live unlike any other: a different providence, a different time, a different life. The Power of the King will condemn you to a life of solitude. Are you prepared for this?"


**Code Geass: Geass Origins**

* * *

Chapter 1 - Osiris, Lord of the Underworld

...

His feet wouldn't stop running. He couldn't. Didn't want to. He wished he didn't have to. One bare and calloused foot in front of the other bare and calloused foot. Up, down, up, down. This was how his legs kept pumping, driving his weight forward.

He was running up a hill now, through sharp rocks and dry grass. The soles of his feet were tough as he was used to running like this every day, though he did not run like _this_ every day. The scratchy and uneven ground did not deter his movements. To him, the rocks were merely broken footpaths. The jaggedness of the path underneath his feet told him he was still alive.

He would not allow himself to stop to witness the destruction of his village. Doing so would only slow his escape. He could still feel the intense heat of the fire bearing down on his back, though whether the fire was so large he could feel it from this distance or whether his close encounter with a burning death had left so great an impression upon him was unknown to the boy.

He cried out in alarm as his foot caught in a small hole in the ground, probably made by a small burrowing rodent. He landed face-down near the peak of the steep hill, where he turned his head to see what had tripped him. He clutched at his leg in attempts to pull it out of the hole, but tears sprung to his eyes as a sharp pain made it clear he had sprained something.

The billowing smoke could still be seen for miles around by any travelling merchant passing through the area. To them, it would serve as a signal that the area was no longer safe.

The boy wrenched his buried foot out of the dry earth, wincing as he did so. He fought back the urge to scream out in pain, forcing his mouth shut with his free hand. Though his foot was now free, the pain did not subside. It merely transformed to a dull throb, its intensity unchanging.

He attempted to stand up, but collapsed as soon as he put pressure on his injured ankle. He lost his balance and shouted out in surprise. His body tumbled down the hill until he felt his head smash into a solid tree trunk at the bottom of the grassy slope. Stars spun in front of his eyes, and his mind slipped into unconsciousness.

...

"That was a dangerous thing to do, Kira. We don't know where he came from."

"He looks harmless enough, father."

"Where did you say you found him?"

"At the bottom of the hill along my running route."

"And he was unconscious?"

Kira nodded. She shuffled her feet and looked at the ground sheepishly. Her father sighed deeply.

"I don't condemn your sympathy for him, though I can't say the same for your foolishness. If he was unconscious, he was most likely struck in the head. Moving his body could have caused further harm to him. We're lucky he's a strong young lad who could have probably taken a heavier beating than he just received and still lived." He chuckled softly. "The next time you find an unconscious boy lying on the ground, find me first before you drag him through the village. It looks like he has a sprained ankle. Can you run down to my shop and bring over my measuring tools? I'll need to fit a splint for him."

"Yes, father." Kira quickly ran outside in the direction of her father's smithy. He was the local blacksmith of his town and ran the finest smithy in the region, much to the town's pride.

He bent down closer to the boy's ankle and turned it over several times, checking for any open cuts or gashes that could cause an infection. He removed the compress from the boy's forehead and replaced it with another wet cloth that had been soaked in medicinal herbs. He was about to bandage the wound on his head when the boy stirred. He mumbled something unintelligible and reached a hand toward his head. The blacksmith held his arm down to prevent him from tearing off the compress, but was shocked when the boy brought up his other arm and pushed his arm away with surprising strength. The blacksmith used his other arm to try and hold him still, but the boy snaked his arm around the ones restraining him and he quickly maneuvered out of the weak hold. He reached up and tore off the compress and winced as he did so, his eyes still closed. He was still mumbling in a semi-conscious state, so he had not quite fully woken yet.

"They...they're..."

"What did you say, boy?"

"They're...they're coming..."

"Who's coming?"

A shrill scream pierced the air and the boy's eyes shot open. Several more drawn-out wails came soon after, and the blacksmith ran to the window to see what was happening. A thick cloud of gray had risen at the far end of the village, and the faint smell of smoke wafted over to him. The boy must have smelled it too, because he immediately sat up on the table he was stretched out on. The blacksmith ran back and tried to get him to sit back down, but the boy grabbed the front of his shirt and raised a fist.

"Whoa! I'm a friend. A friend! You were unconscious and my daughter-"

"Where am I? Argh..." he dropped his fist and instead placed his open palm on his head, pain seeping out from the deep gash on his head.

"You're in a small town named Rothberg Village. My name is Wallace. What's your name?"

"My name...my name is Osiris."

"Osiris, huh? What happened to-"

"You shouldn't have brought me here...the soldiers! The soldiers came...no weapons...no resistance...my family..." he slumped forward, nearly falling off the table were it not for the blacksmith who sat him upright again.

"What soldiers?" the blacksmith demanded.

Another series of cries reached their ears and gave an answer to his questions. He again ran to the window and realized there were dozens of people running in the opposite direction of the fire, though there was another group behind those running. These people looked like they were walking more than running.

Or marching.

These must have been the soldiers the boy was talking about! He went back to the table where the boy was attempting to stand up. He was obviously in a great deal of pain, evidenced by his contorted expression and his constant hissing. He finally managed to stand upright, but collapsed again. The blacksmith caught him under the arm, and he limped toward the window where he supported himself with his other arm.

"They're already here. We have to leave, now."

The blacksmith looked out the window and needed no further convincing. He was no headstrong imbecile and knew when to back down from a fight. There would not even be a fight if he decided to stay, judging from the state of the town.

"Wait! I need to get my daughter. She's in my shop."

"Is your shop close? We have to leave as soon as possible."

"Yes, it's right down the road."

"Make it fast."

The two walked, or rather limped, down the dusty road to the blacksmith's shop. Osiris kept his arm around the blacksmith's shoulders and he hobbled on his good foot all the way to the front entrance. Finding a short crate lying on the ground, he gently lowered himself down onto it. Walking through the front entrance, Wallace paused before he shouted out.

"Kira! Where are you?"

"I'm over here! I think I found the right tools, but I'm not sure-"

"Forget the tools. We have to leave now." he spoke in a serious voice. Kira knew not to question her father when he spoke in so serious a tone. She climbed down the ladder carrying a small sack of what was presumably tools. She skipped over to where her father waited at the entrance of the shop, her silvery blonde hair bouncing about her shoulders with her movements. She handed her father the bag.

"What's wrong? And hey!" she pointed at the boy who was sitting on a crate, "Why did he walk all the way out to the shop? He's supposed to be lying down at home."

"No time to explain. The soldiers will be here any moment."

"Soldiers? Were they the ones who started the screaming?"

"Yes, now we have to go!"

Just then, a group of soldiers marched through the street directly in front of the shop. Their iron boots clanked along the hard gravel, the sound of each step multiplied tenfold. A commander at the front of the platoon signalled for a stop, and the group halted with a resounding stomp.

"Find the criminal. Do not stop searching until you find him. Kill all who resist."

The formation of soldiers broke and they spread out from the center of the street like an infection. They barged into homes and shops, demanding for the whereabouts of the criminal they hunted. In the shop, Osiris, Kira, and Wallace all sat crouched in a corner of the shop, hiding in the shadows. They all held their breath when one of the soldiers walked into the shop and began looking around, prodding cabinet doors with the butt of his spear.

"Shh." Wallace managed a low whisper to the other two. They needed no warnings however, and Kira replied with a simply nod. Osiris winced as his ankle began throbbing again, probably from his exertions while walking from the house.

"I found footprints! Three sets! One of them could match the ones we followed to here," one of the soldiers yelled. Osiris felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as his heart rate jumped.

"They lead into the back shop. Hey! There's someone!"

"Father, no!" Kira hissed, but Osiris quickly covered her mouth with his hand, which she pushed away angrily.

Wallace realized that their discovery would be inevitable. He had stood up in the hopes of deterring the soldiers from his daughter and the strange boy. Hopefully he would be able to explain the two extra sets of footprints that led to the back of the shop.

"Who are you?"

"Hey, what are you soldiers doing, coming through this area?"

"You are being asked your name," the soldier ignored his question. "Answer quickly, my patience runs thin."

"My name is Wallace and I'm the blacksmith of the town. What is going on here?"

"We're looking for a criminal. A boy, about sixteen years old. He's a fugitive who was seen entering this town. All who are caught harbouring fugitives will be slain, by order of the Emperor."

Wallace's mind made the connection immediately. Osiris, the boy he had taken in, was a fugitive. He couldn't have been more than fifteen years old, by the looks of him. And yet these soldiers claimed to be acting on orders from the Emperor. That would make them soldiers of the Imperial Guard. _"A fugitive for doing what?"_ his mind asked. At this point however, he didn't really care. These men would kill him if they thought he was sheltering a fugitive. He opened his mouth to respond, but the voice he heard was not his own.

"Were you looking for me?"

Osiris stepped out from the shadows of the workshop, hands clasped elegantly behind his back. He bore a confident smirk, and stared down the soldier speaking to Wallace. Some of the soldiers readied their crossbows and lifted them to their shoulders, fingers ghosting over the triggers, while others drew their swords. Wallace turned at the boy and was shocked that he was revealing himself. But his actions confirmed that Osiris was the fugitive they were looking for. He then remembered the boy's ankle injury, and was surprised that he was able to walk on his own without any assistance. A glance at his feet revealed that he had managed to fashion a crude splint from spare parts in the short amount of time he had been hiding in the back of the shop. He was resourceful.

"You can't run anymore, Osiris. You're cornered," the leader of the group spoke to him. "Turn yourself in, and we won't kill your friend here," he said as he aimed his own crossbow at Wallace. The two were a mere twenty feet apart, at most, and Osiris analyzed the situation carefully. A bad move would mean the end for Wallace, and he would try to avoid that situation at all costs. There were about a dozen soldiers that formed a semi-circle around the central confrontation between Osiris, Wallace, and the gruff soldier. Half of the dozen were armed with crossbows while the other half wielded swords. The crossbows would get to him first, if he attempted anything, though these were not ordinary crossbows. The Royal Guard had access to the best blacksmiths and carpenters in the Empire, and these were the most accurate weapons of the age. It was rumored that each of the Guard was given a customized crossbow, personally crafted to match the hand width and shoulder width of each soldier. And these soldiers were no cannon fodder. They were tasked with keeping royalty safe, hence the designation of Royal Guard. He threw up his arms in defeat.

"I surrender."

Wallace gaped at him, as if expecting him to fight back until he bled out, trying to take out as much of the Royal Guard as possible before his glorious death. _"I guess the kid's not that heroic,"_ he thought.

"Tie his hands in front. I don't want him escaping like he did last time, cutting through the knots when we couldn't see his wrists." the leader ordered. One of the swordsmen nodded and sheathed his sword, moving forward with a length of rope. The soldiers with crossbows raised their weapons to their cheeks once more, after having relaxed a bit. They would not let him get away this time.

"Hands in front." the soldier with the rope said to Osiris. The boy slowly brought his hands in front of his body, waiting until he and the soldier were about two feet apart. Then he used his trademark tactic.

"Hey, he's escaping!" Osiris shouted in a loud voice, pointing behind the soldier's ear.

"Wha-"

He grabbed the rope in the soldier's hands and twisted clockwise, then counter-clockwise, and back and forth, until he managed to get hold of the rope with both of his hands. He spun the soldier around and wrapped the coarse rope around the soldier's neck, holding him up against his body as a shield. He secured the ends of the rope with one hand and used his other to draw the soldier's sword. The blade rang as it slid out of its sheath, the mid-day sun gleaming off its lethal point.

"No! Fire!" the leader barked.

The soldiers with crossbows released their bolts and they flew through the air, all six of them aiming for Osiris's head. He quickly brought the thrashing body of the soldier in front of him and ducked, praying that the soldier was wearing enough armor to prevent the bolts from slicing through eight inches of flesh and hitting him on the other side. He threw aside the body of the dead Guard and ran up to a stack of crates. He jumped onto the first one with his left foot and kicked off the second crate with his right foot, sending him flying ten feet into the air. He brought up his sword and roared as he swung down at the swordsman who had dared to charge him.

He grunted as his weapon sliced through flesh, bone, and connective tissue, severing something that was probably vital to human anatomy in the process. He parried the incoming strike from another soldier, and ran his sword through his abdomen, causing a spray of blood to splash several drops on his cheek. He wiped away the blood with the back of his wrist and ducked as a crossbow bolt flew past his head. He pried the fallen soldier's sword out of his hand, and heaved it at one of the other crossbow wielding soldiers, hitting him square in the chest. The Guard yelped and fell backwards, the crossbow accidentally firing a bolt into the thigh of one of the other guards. He quickly dispatched three more Guards, and stopped when the leader dragged a frightened Kira in front of him, a knife to her throat.

"Drop the sword, Osiris, or she dies!" he shouted. Osiris was still crouched in his battle-ready stance, with his feet spread apart and his sword at the ready. His eyebrows drew together angrily at the soldier's cowardice. Taking hostages was something that criminals did, not soldiers of the Royal Guard. He growled as he stood upright, looking at the bloodied sword in his hand. He looked at the leader and dropped the sword to the dusty ground. It bounced a few times before it stopped.

"That's more like it." The leader pushed Kira away toward Wallace, revealing a crossbow in his other hand, which was concealed behind Kira. He raised it and fired its single bolt, where it soared through the air and embedded itself in Osiris's chest. His eyes popped open slightly, and he looked down, surprised it had hit him. Kira gasped at the sight, after having seen him easily best much of the Royal Guard. He seemed invincible until the moment when he surrendered because of her. He fell backwards into the ground, and his eyes closed shut, dust rising around him.

"No!" Kira dashed forward to reach Osiris, but her father grabbed her arm, holding her back. She looked up at him, and he shook his head.

The leader gave a slight chuckle and grinned, lazily holding his crossbow by his side. He casually sauntered over to the still body on the ground, looking around at his few remaining soldiers for approval. He stepped over the body of Osiris, his tall figure casting a shadow over the boy's face. A smudge of blood was still on his cheek, and the crossbow bolt still protruded from his chest. The leader bent down and spat on him with disgust. He began to laugh manically when suddenly a sharp blade found its way between his ribs. He looked down, and a haunting pair of eyes stared up at him.

He whispered tauntingly, "Don't you know who Osiris is?"

...


End file.
